


My Only Friend

by MissFisher



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, DLC Spoilers, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia, Murder, Possibly Unrequited Love, Psychological Torture, Strong Language, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Young Ignis is an awkward Ignis, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFisher/pseuds/MissFisher
Summary: Ignis is haunted by memories of the woman he left in Insomnia, unsure of her fate after its fall. His duty to Noctis and their friends make it impossible to search for her, despite the combined efforts of others. However, she continues to find him in forms of hallucinations and nightmares—begging the question of whether she is alive, and what she is trying to tell him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! Just a heads up: the first half of this story will follow Ignis's POV through in-game events, and the second half will follow the POV of an original female character. You know, as long as everything goes according to plan, but creativity can sometimes ruin that…
> 
> In case you are curious, the title is taken from a song performed by Phantogram and you can listen to it here https://youtu.be/XCaq-uGzxX0

_I was six years old when I first committed murder._

_Mama never let me go off by myself, even in the daytime. She preferred I stayed inside and studied, or did chores in the garden where she could see me. She'd watch from the kitchen window and knock on the glass if I took too long. At first I listened, but I got smart and after a while, I'd lie. I would say I wasn't finished and needed more time, but I think she knew I just wanted to stay in the sun._

_Some days it was downright awful. The sun always burnt my fair skin and Mama would holler at me, telling me I should've come in when she first told me to. She asked if I learnt my lesson and even though I'd say yes, I kept staying out longer and longer. It just felt so nice, and it was so much better than being cooped up in our house._

_Eventually, she gave up on trying to get me in and stopped keeping an eye on me. Instead she told me to sing so she knew I was there. She taught me all the songs she listened to when she was young, and showed me how to hit the right notes. One day, we even sat out in the garden and listened to the birds call to each other. Mama liked them. She was sad when they stopped coming around. It was about that time she no longer joined me, but it was okay, because I had made a friend._

_It was a boy about my age. Said he heard me singing and came to ask if I wanted to play. I told him I couldn't, but every day, he walked through the woods and found me in the dirt. We'd sit and whisper so Mama couldn't hear us. Got away with it for a long time until she caught us. She flew outside, snatched me up by my arm and squeezed so tight I thought it was gonna rip off. I tried to beg and reason with her, but she told me not to talk to him ever again._

_I cried. I cried so loud and for so long she fixed me a special tea to make me fall asleep. When I woke up, she surprised me with a tire swing under my favorite tree. I forgot what I was fitting about the second she put me on it and pushed. All my troubles disappeared on that swing. So did the boy. He never came back._

_It was then Mama decided I was old enough for scary stories. She would tell me about the daemons that came out after sunset. Told me they went from house to house feasting on little kids like me. That's why I had to stay in, and that's why I couldn't trust anyone but her. The daemons could be anyone, she said, and she didn't wanna risk it. Said I was too good to be taken away or gobbled up by monsters._

_I wish I had listened to her. Wonder what she would say now._

 ___________________________________________

**_M.E. 752_ **

_Location: Insomnia_

_The day after the Crownsguard ceremony_

It wasn't often Ignis allowed himself to drink. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time he enjoyed wine with dinner. As a trusted advisor, it was inappropriate to consume more than necessary—if any at all. Sure, there were occasions worth celebrating, or social functions that called for indulgence. It helped other guests relax, his uncle insisted, especially nobles.

However, last night was one for the books.

It began as a night out for the boys: a suggestion made by Gladiolus at the end of Ignis's swearing into the Crownsguard. Before he had the chance to refuse, his friends planned the entire evening without his word. Yet, none of their suggestions came to fruition as the hours wore on; what became of their outing, Ignis couldn't remember. If the hammering inside of his skull was an indication, it told the man he went _too_ far.

A heavy groan resonated from him as he struggled to move. He remembered laughter, cracking jokes and taking shots at the request of his best friends. The four gorged on greasy food, talked about future plans, but Ignis drew a blank after that. There was no recollection of leaving, returning home, or the fate of his comrades. He prayed they stayed in better condition than him.

Between the haze of last night's events and the flash of blinding sunlight, Ignis found the strength to push himself into a slouch turned away from the open curtains. His broad shoulders hunched forward, he rested both elbows on each knee and buried his face in one hand, the other brushing over his unkempt hair.

“What was I thinking?” he moaned, reaching out in search for his eyeglasses on the nightstand. It took a few clumsy slaps of his hand, but he carefully slid the frames onto his face, providing a clear view of the spinning room.

“For goodness sake,” he strained, using his knees as leverage to stand. “That's the last time I—” Before he could swear off alcohol, driving above the speed limit or sleeping in, he stumbled back and flopped onto the mattress. Each bounce felt like a funhouse, launching him sky high and onto his back. “Make it stop,” he croaked out, his voice trembling with the short burst of violent movement.

**________________________**

Fifteen minutes and one nauseous episode later, Ignis emerged from the bedroom to find Gladio and Prompto seated in the living room: two of the three responsible for his hangover. He was prepared to give them a piece of his mind when a light breeze rustled the hair over his legs. Looking down, it was the first time he assessed his attire: a day old dress shirt with missing buttons; frayed ends from a destroyed set of suspenders; more noticeably, a disturbing lack of pants.

“Where are my pants?”

There was no time for a proper greeting and he certainly needn't ask if the men fared better than himself. A shockingly clothed Gladio sat on the couch sipping a bottle of water. Dark circles underlined his eyes, but he appeared fine (for the most part). Prompto, on the other hand, laid on the floor with a throw pillow on his face. From where Ignis stood, it looked like he was still breathing.

“You took ‘em off,” Gladio spoke into the bottle, his words echoing inside the plastic. “Specs are crooked.”

The expression on Ignis's face fell and he blinked—once, then twice—before straightening the frames. His attention went back to the pillow, watching it slide to the floor as Prompto tried to sit upright. Like the battle with his bed, the blond’s hand slipped on the soft carpet and sent him sideways, head first into the coffee table.

He slumped back on the throw pillow and let out a whine, but neither Ignis or Gladio asked if he was fine. The two simply stared at the younger boy who lifted a hand, giving a thumbs up. “I'm ok,” he sighed.

“Why would I remove my pants?” Ignis huffed, pushing up his frames at the bridge of his nose. “And what _happened_? My clothes, the entire night... Where is Noct?”

Prompto shrugged his shoulders, using a bare foot to tap the seated man’s leg on cue.

“You don't remember?” Gladio cocked an amused brow. “Climbed an iron fence. I don't know why ‘cause the gate was _right_ there…”

“That's around the time your pants came off,” Noctis added, stepping into the living room with a towel draped over his freshly washed hair. “Ripped right down the seam of your rear end. It's a good thing no one else saw you. Aren't many stragglers at three in the morning.”

Ignis gasped the further his friends droned on, telling stories of the events that unfolded. He was shocked! Not once in his life had he ever acted so irresponsibly. Then again, there were days he and Noctis snuck out of the Citadel; each one ended with the oldest boy scolded. Who would reprimand him now: a young adult freshly minted by the Crownsguard? Not to mention, the four were under the legal drinking age: a natural recipe for disaster.

“And the fight! Don't forget the fight,” added Prompto.

“A fight?” Ignis's brows arched in disbelief. “What fight?”

“That's right,” Gladio chuckled, chugging what was left of the water. “And to think, I don't see a bruise. Wh’about you guys?”

A crimson red blush filled Ignis's cheeks and he sputtered from the mouth. Without another word, he rushed off to the bathroom and threw the door open, slamming it shut behind him. He flicked on the light and removed his eyeglasses, examining his face for evidence of their story.

“I think… I believe I see something,” he called through the door, leaning into the mirror for closer inspection.

**________________________**

The trio quietly snickered amongst themselves like school girls in the lunchroom. They listened to their friend berate himself for his absurd behavior, cursing and frowning in the mirror.

“Man, I feel kinda bad,” Prompto confessed. “Should we tell him the truth?”

“That he fell asleep at the tavern?” Noctis shrugged, plopping down on the couch next to Gladio.

“Nah. You see his face?” Gladio cackled, mimicking their wailing friend. “‘Sides, he deserves it for giving us shit. Buzzkill.”

“Yeah, what was that about? I'm not _that_ lazy…” scoffed Noct, looking at his friends for confirmation. He snorted a second time when they averted their gaze elsewhere, rolling his eyes.

The boys grew quiet as soon as the bathroom door creaked open and they watched Ignis step out, his shoulders drooped low for a walk of shame.

“What have I done?” he muttered, his feet dragging to the empty chair opposite of the couch. “Less than twenty-four hours in the Crownsguard, and I've proved to be unfit for duty already. How can I operate under stress if I cannot do as much as compose myself after a few drinks?”

“A few?” Prompto narrowed his eyes at him. “Buddy, you had enough to tranquilize a kujata!”

“My word…” Ignis sighed beneath his breath, sinking down in the cushion. “What am I to do now?”

Gladio leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Easy. Apologize to the barmaid,” he insisted. “I'd like to go back there. The chicken was really good.”

It was difficult to ignore the compliment for another chef. Insult to injury with no room to argue. There was no doubt in his mind that an apology was overdue. He had to clear his conscience and explain his actions to those that suffered for it.

“Right,” he nodded, pushing up his glasses once more, “but… where exactly did we go?”

**___________________________________________**

_Haven_ : a staple in the outer regions of Insomnia, located in the narrow alleyways of its lower class district. It was home to one of the most famous stouts in the city and produced the tastiest fried wings a patron could ask for. That's what the advertisements and Gladio claimed, but Ignis hardly paid any mind to the signs as he neared the establishment.

According to the traitor, the guys settled there after exploring streets outside of their usual territory. They weaved through foot traffic and followed talks of delicious food to several levels below the pedestrian bridge. There, the four were surrounded by drunk Glaives; one mistook Gladio for one of their own, allowing them to remain undetected. It was the perfect anonymity required by the prince and so, the soldiers led them on with the promise of drinks and food.

_“The rest is history,” the big guy explained._

It might have been history to them, but for Ignis, he still had no memory of the night, much less the confusing directions provided by his devious friends.

From the populated metropolis down into the cluttered alleys, Ignis walked to depths he never visited before. At least not while sober. It was glum compared to the modern vibrancy of downtown Insomnia, but one detail stayed the same: buildings towered above him and each one glowed with neon lights. There were shops serving various purposes and precariously positioned restaurants high in the sky, vendors shouting at anyone who would listen, private quarters with laundry on the line, children laughing and the others crying.

It was different, but had a certain charm that attracted citizens of the Crown City to explore the region dominated by immigrants from distant towns. Yet, the deeper he went, the more he stood out from typical tourists. His friends suggested that he wore civilian clothing to blend in, but Ignis carried himself differently than other people. One glance at the sulking man and it was evident he bore some importance, or malice intent. Prompto frequently said that his stare is menacing, making it impossible to disappear in a crowd.

Marching onward, he forwent his friends' directions and followed arrows that led him to the destination. During his walk from the Citadel, he hadn't considered the possibility it would be closed. It was a place of booze and food! There was no need for it to open at nine o'clock in the morning on a weekend. Although common sense told him to return later, the schedule posted on the door reasoned he had to wait for one hour. If he wished to make amends and to ensure a future visit for Gladiolus, he would sit for sixty minutes—nothing more, nothing less.

The first half hour went by quickly. Most of it was occupied by strangers whom had stopped to ask for directions, or if he worked at the tap house; if so, what time did it open. The rest of it was spent on his mobile device where he responded to emails and added events to the prince's itinerary for next week. Already, he could feel the effort required to convince his friend to act on the commitments. The word 'lazy' crossed his mind, a thought that struck him as familiar, but dismissed it when he noticed a pair of black boots turned toward him.

Ignis looked from the phone to find a woman standing in front of him. She stared at him intently with both arms folded across her chest and her weight shifted to one foot. "Uh, what are you doing?" she asked. Pale green eyes burned into his skull, narrowing at him in an accusatory manner.

He rose from his seat on the cement steps and dimmed the home screen of the device, sliding it into the pocket of his pants. "I am waiting for the tavern to open," he explained, watching as she moved to the first, second and third step. The pair eyed one another suspiciously, his own widening when she reached down to twist the door handle.

"Shucks," she sighed. "Looks like I have to break in. Hey, you're pretty tall... Care to lend me a hand?"

"What?" Ignis's brows furrowed, unsure if he heard correctly. Alarms blared inside of his head and he quickly returned to the ground, looking up at her mischievous smile. "I'll have you know, I am—"

"Listen, all you have to do is say no," the purple haired stranger interjected. "It's fine! I do it all the time. Just... don't tell anyone."

Before he could investigate further, she skipped down the steps and headed toward a passageway around the building, whistling ever so casually. He immediately dropped a hand to his pocket to remove the phone. Should he contact the police? It wasn't a question to a concerned citizen, but he stopped. As an officer of the Crownsguard, he vowed to protect the royal family. What use was he if he couldn't stop a simple breaking and entering?

When he rounded the building and followed the path behind the bar, he found the woman kneeling in front of the back door. Her left hand clutched the doorknob while the other used a bobby pin to try and pick the lock. To add, he noticed she was confident (or smart) enough to wear a single glove so she didn't leave fingerprints on the silver knob.

"So you decided to help after all," she acknowledged him without a glance. "It's too late now! Some help you are," she scoffed, turning an ear toward the door to listen closely.

"Stop before I—" An audible click sounded over the pulse of his racing heartbeat. He stood there in defeat and watched her triumphant smile stretch as she pushed the door inward. "You just…"

"That was too easy. Probably time to get a new lock." Without another word, she entered the building, giving him no chance to demand answers. She only spoke to him again when she poked her head around the door and nodded at him. "You comin' or what?"

Ignis couldn't believe it! The nerve, the audacity of this criminal to believe he was an active participant in her misconduct. As an eighteen year old, legally an adult, it was his burden to contact the police in time of need, be it for himself or if he witnessed something. It was a simple solution, but somehow, his feet carried him into the dark establishment and the door closed behind him softly.

Fluorescent lights poured into the room, causing him to squint and raise a hand to shield his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found that the two were in a pristine kitchen. His lips parted to say something, but she spoke without granting him the opportunity.

"I take it you're looking for this?" she asked, holding a wallet out to him. "You and your buddies left before I could return it."

Ignis looked down. At some point, the woman must have removed her jacket before she invited him into the crime scene. What appeared to be a glove was now highlighted under the bright lights. From her left shoulder down was an expertly crafted prosthetic. The base of the design was a clean, sleek white; the joints and hand black. Slender-made fingers were clasped around his wallet as an offering. A stolen glance confirmed it suited her muscular physique, a near perfect match to her right arm.

He stuttered until the words came out, “Thank you. I… I apologize, I was under the impression you were breaking in to steal.”

Surprise fixed on her face, quickly replaced by a bout of laughter. “And here, I thought you recognized me! I guess you were _really_ drunk last night, Mr. _I'm a grown man, I can handle one more drink._ ”

A pink hue appeared in Ignis's cheeks and he stared at the wallet, opening it to ensure everything was inside. “I said that?” he questioned, pushing the item into his other pocket. “Forgive me, I assume you are the barmaid?” Her response came in the form of a lifted brow, waiting until he made the connection. “The owner… If I may, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. It is unlike me to be—”

“Rude?” she interrupted, folding both arms against her chest as she stepped closer. With the light, he could see the deep scar over her nose and below her eye. Curious, but he would never ask. “Crass? Boorish?”

“That is putting it lightly based on what I've learned,” he pushed his eyeglasses upward. “I'm not one to cause trouble, nor do I search for fights. I'm not sure what possessed me to behave so erratically. Perhaps—”

Her angry facade failed to withstand his self-pity. She chuckled and shook her head at him, “What are you talking about? You didn't get into a fight. All you did was say I don't know how to make _proper_ potato skins, then you fell asleep in the booth.”

Steam billowed from the boy’s ears as the gears of his brain switched to ludicrous speed. Memories came to him in a sequence of flashes: the food, the copious amount of alcohol purchased on his dime, and the stories told by Glaives of their adventures and homes outside the wall. He vaguely remembered the taste of potato skins and criticizing the cook for the lack of salt, then falling asleep on Noctis’s shoulder. Not before he scolded his three friends, sharing what had been on his mind for some time.

Ignis Scientia, commonly described as serious and reserved, was responsible for the downfall brought on by liquid courage. No wonder his friends chose to lie and snicker in front of him. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong: nothing happened?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she shrugged, slipping a hand into the back pocket of her blue jeans. “You stated an opinion. An elaborate and _loud_ opinion, but you are free to do so.”

His eyes cut into a roll, hard enough to pop out of the sockets. “I’ve words for those scoundrels.” His plot for revenge was cut short by her soft laugh, earning a smile from him.

“Come, I have work to do.”

He hesitated. Originally, he planned to apologize and go back to the Citadel. It might have been the weekend, but there was no rest for the wicked, or a servant of the royal family. He had to prepare for a luncheon and meeting to occur on Monday; however, his feet betrayed him once again. Out of the kitchen and to the main floor of the establishment, he trailed behind her.

“I should be the one to apologize,” she suggested, removing a hair tie from around her right wrist to pull her purple locks into a ponytail. She entered the space behind the counter and turned the lights to a pleasant dim. Industrial bulbs hung from the ceiling, coming to life to expose the room. “I tend to get...competitive with new customers.”

Ignis meandered to the wooden counter where she stood, his eyes taking in new sights revealed by the light. It was different than his friends described, no doubt an effort to fuel his anxiety. There was no stench of masculinity and stale beer, the floorboards didn't stick to the bottom of his shoes, and there were no inappropriate or threatening photos to create an intimidating atmosphere. It was small, quaint, and the walls wore frames of newspaper clippings to commemorate the past and future of Insomnia. Memorabilia paid homage to fallen soldiers of the Kingsglaive, and honored homes lost to the Imperials.

“Competitive?” he asked, taking a seat on one of the cushioned stools. “I dare ask for an elaboration.”

A smirk formed at the side of her mouth without an explanation. Instead she withdrew from the space and walked toward the back wall where a jukebox sat. The neon tubes glowed red, yellow, green, and white when she plugged it in; quiet music came from the speakers after she pushed a few buttons. She then turned her attention to the round tables, removing chairs from on top to set on the floor and push underneath the flat surface. Ignis was quick to help, a gesture she didn't deny.

“I like to figure out their choice of drink. I'm a woman who prides herself on being right, but… it seems I've met a match in you.”

“Well, if you would like to know—”

“No!” she exclaimed, dropping a chair upright. Its legs wobbled back and forth until it settled. “I'll figure it out eventually. How else am I to keep the doors open?” 

“If memory serves correctly, then I trust you'll be able to keep the doors open for at least one more day.” He tried to hide the aggravation for his friends, but the scowl on his face said everything.

“One day?” she scoffed and headed behind the bar once again, returning with small menus and napkins. “Three, to more specific.”

An audible groan came from the man and he lowered his head to see the menus extended to him. He followed her from table to table, booth to booth, as they took turns setting them.

“You and your friends nearly drank the well dry,” continued the owner. “The big one had to support you and the little blond out the door. I think the broody one was crying.”

  **________________________**

When they finished preparing, the woman brewed a pot of fresh coffee and poured two mugs, then set them at the booth closest to the jukebox. Sitting down, she pointed to the seat opposite of her and smiled. “It's the least I can do… for paying my electric bill, for the help, and above all: not calling the police.”

A short laugh came from Ignis and he slid into the booth, his hands instinctively closing around the warm mug. “I imagine we would be having a much different conversation had that been the case. Is it often you have to break into your own business?”

“Unfortunately,” she cringed behind the mug as she took a cautious sip of the steaming contents. “I left to place an order at the market. I get away with leaving the doors unlocked when I'm gone in the morning. Not smart, but no one has stolen anything yet. Just... the door,” she huffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It needs fixed. Haven't gotten around to it.”

“So, it is safe to suggest you literally cannot keep your doors open.”

Not many people amused Ignis when he made a bad joke. His sense of humor was an acquired taste, akin to fathers who terrorized their children with puns. Only his friends understood him, but he watched her eyes light up, joined by a fit of laughter.

“That's funny,” she grinned. “Ignis, right?”

“Yes ma'am,” he nodded, taking a drink of the coffee. It wasn't Ebony, but it would suffice.

Ever so slowly, she set her mug on the table and stared at him with fearful eyes. A horrified expression set in her bold features and she frowned. “Ma’am? _Oof_ ,” was all she managed, placing a hand to her chest. “No one has ever called me that before… I'm not _that_ old, don't brand me a senior citizen.”

“My apologies,” Ignis pressed his lips together. “It's second nature to formally address others out of respect, especially when I first meet them.”

“What exactly is it that you do, Ignis?” She lifted a curious brow and rested her left arm on the table, the fingertips tapping gently on the surface in fluid motion. “No offense, but you're not like most of the customers that come through here. Most of them are Glaives, refugees, some tourists… I get the impression you are none of the above.”

Ignis weighed his options. His friends expressed they would like to visit again, but the truth meant exposing Noctis. On one hand, he would never make the prince uncomfortable, except for when he tried to bribe him with vegetables or chores. On the other, it thrilled him to sit in front of someone who knew nothing of his job and what it entailed. It was a brief escape, one he relished in.

“I work at the Citadel,” he answered, short and sweet. There are many things one can do at the tower, and none of it required an explanation.

“Wow.” Impressed, her brows raised and she pursed both lips to the side. “Eighteen years old and working at the Citadel. That's...something. Must be tiring.”

“I assume the same could be said about owning and operating a business.”

For a brief moment, the smile returned to her mouth then faded, her eyes wide. “I'm late!” she cursed beneath her breath and hopped to her feet. Rushing into the kitchen, she appeared with a brick and pulled the front door back, using the block to prop the entrance open. She turned on the neon sign in the window and wiped a hand across her forehead, feigning relief. “Whew! Don't tell my boss.”

Looking down at his watch, Ignis muttered a curse word of his own as he slid out from the booth. “As long as you don't tell mine,” he sighed. So much for waiting sixty minutes. He was nearly two hours late for his meeting with Noctis, though he would be surprised if he was out of bed.

“I must be off,” he joined her side at the open door. “I appreciate the coffee. It's been a pleasure—” It wasn't until then he realized he never asked for her name.

Before he could express regret (again), she reassured him with a grin and extended her hand. “Ilya. My name is Ilya.”

Ignis took her hand in his own and supplied a gentle, formal shake. “I trust we'll meet again. My friend, the big one, raved about your chicken this morning.”

“That'd be nice,” she confessed, trying to suppress a smile as he walked down the steps. “Oh wait! Actually, you and your friends are barred. Can't have _underage_ customers drinking on my property.”

The words stopped him in his tracks and he turned on the heel of his shoe to face the consequences. It was only a matter of time until he and his friends were punished for drinking in a bar. It was stupid for them to go outside of their zone; had they not, Ignis wouldn't have met her. Still, he could hear the others making a fuss about their status at the tavern.

“Might I point out that _you_ served _us?_ ” he rebutted.

“A Glaive vouched for you. He'll be getting an earful too,” Ilya determined, her voice stern. Stepping out from the doorway and onto the top step, she passed a folded piece of paper to him. “You guys can order food, but can't eat on the premises. Clear?”

Her sudden change in tone made him remember she was a business woman and deserved respect, as much as he and his friends should be scolded. It was hard to read her strong, confident demeanor and the warm smile that contradicted it.

Sighing, he took the paper and unfolded it to find numbers written on it. “Crystal,” he responded, his brows lowered in confusion. “What's this for?”

It was a genuine question. Aside from the digits, there was a nicely drawn smiley face with no name or reference attached to it. Ilya didn't answer. Like earlier in the kitchen, she watched the contemplation on his face and waited to see if he would connect the dots. When he failed to draw a conclusion, she chuckled at him.

“You don't get out very much, do you?”

Ignis was taken aback by the snide comment. So far, the two had been cordial with one another until now. First she banned him, then offended him. It might have been true, but he wasn't ready to agree. “What—”

It dawned on him.

For years, he and his friends watched women fawn over Gladiolus. It was impossible to go out in public without him flirting and collecting an obscene amount of phone numbers. Most were discarded in the trash and he didn't think about what happened to the rest. While Prompto and Noctis encouraged it, even voiced envy, Ignis found it repulsive. But there he stood, studying the phone number before glancing upward to find she was gone.

Somewhere between realization and acceptance, customers bumped by and entered the bar, drawing Ilya's attention back inside. Through the open door, he could see her smile and laugh with a patron as she poured them a drink. His eyes chased her from the counter to the register and back when she caught him staring from outside. Wearing an enticing smile, she lifted a hand to wave the fingers at him.

Undecided on what to do, Ignis reacted to the gesture by promptly turning around and walking away with haste: an action sure to haunt him for days.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was a great mother, though. Just wanted what was best for me. Did everything to raise me right. She taught me how to read, tie my shoes, showed me what's safe to forage and what will make me sick. Told me all about the Astrals, but I never understood it. Couldn't comprehend why six Gods would sacrifice us to a world full of daemons. She tried to explain it, insisted that I listened, but I never did._

_Mama did it all and by herself too. To this day, I still don't know how she managed it, but that woman erected the brightest lights to ward off the daemons. Said they're afraid of it and that I should learn to embrace it. If so, I'd be safe. I hated those fucking lights. Made it impossible to sleep, even with the covers over my head._

_There were days when she would leave me alone. Said something about having to take odd jobs and that I had to stay behind. Claimed it was too dangerous for me to leave, and it was important I stayed in the house. I wasn't allowed to go any further than the garden, but I could stay out for a half hour at the most. I remember how she stressed the fact that I was forbidden to speak to anyone, be it animal or man. Not many of those came near our property, she made sure of that._

_It was great in the beginning. Everything in our house felt so much bigger when I was alone, especially the cabinets in the kitchen. I had to get creative about that. I'd stack all of the things I could carry and just climb higher and higher until I was able to get my cup or my plate. Now that I think back on it, I guess she was too preoccupied to remember to put them someplace I could reach. She never forgot again when she found me knocked out on the kitchen floor with a few bumps on my head._

_But like all things, the allure of being alone faded. Keeping a child isolated is one of the cruelest things you can do. Pretty soon, I was just...angry, confused, and hurt. I didn't have anyone. Not Mama, not the birds, the tire swing or the boy that used to come and see me. All I had was the garden, but vegetables aren't very talkative._

_One day, Mama told me she would be gone overnight. She was so frantic about it. We spent a week reviewing everything I had to do: my chores, study, make my bed, and turn on the lights. She knew I hated them, but I was willing to do it if it made her feel better. Before I knew it, she was gone and I was alone again… until there was a knock on the door._

**___________________________________________**

**_Two Weeks Later_ **

_Friday, 7:00 PM_

Dim light flickered from a lamp, cascading over a stack of documents spread across a desk. Every inch of the rectangle surface was covered in clutter: unorganized files with papers sticking out of the sides; bank statements and legal forms explaining loans; termination notices with large red stamps on envelopes. At the center of the mess sat a woman in a wooden chair, slumped forward with her cheek resting on an electric bill. Purple hair fanned around her in a tangled crown, shielding her closed eyelids and absorbing what drool dripped from her parted lips.

Ilya never wanted to own a bar. When she first started to work at Haven, she proved to be an excellent barmaid for both the owner and the customers. She knew how to handle large crowds, swindle patrons, and charm masses into spending money. If it was necessary, she could manipulate a child to give her candy and let them believe it was their idea. All in all, she was perfect behind the bar and mediocre in the kitchen: two qualities that don't make an ideal businesswoman.

However, she wasn't aware the owner was a year shy of retirement and in search of someone to take the helm. It took months for the old man to sweet talk Ilya, and longer to prepare before he signed the property over. It was difficult to say no when he shared the origins of the tavern, and the goal he set out to achieve: provide comfort to members of the Kingsglaive and other refugees from outside the wall. To honor fallen comrades, he named it after the campsites that protected him and fellow hunters in the past. Because of that, he felt his new barmaid could handle the reins.

Except she was failing. Miserably.

An hour came and went before Ilya was ripped from her slumber, nearly jumping out of her skin when the phone started to ring. The device blared and vibrated, dancing on the desk toward the edge. With the corners of her eyes full of sleep, she barely caught it after it fell overboard. Squinting, she examined the unknown number and grumbled, reluctantly swiping at the green button.

"Hello?" she cleared her throat of the grogginess. Already, she was annoyed and ready to bicker with a collection agent. What she didn't anticipate was the distinguished accent that greeted her on the other end.

" _Forgive me… Were you asleep?_ "

Hair rose on the back of her neck at the sound of Ignis's voice. It has been two weeks since she first and last spoke to him. Truthfully, she never expected to hear from him despite her failed attempt to flirt. Either he was too busy at the Citadel or not interested. An attractive man lost to the wind, she deduced, and moved on with her days. Yet, her posture snapped and she quickly wiped the drool from her mouth with a free hand: an impulsive action as if he could see her.

"No! Resting, but not asleep," she lied. "How are you? Gotta admit, I didn't think you were going to call."

" _Yes, well—_ "

"Let me stop you right there," she interjected. "You apologize too much. My head is still spinning from our last chat."

" _I do, don't I? Very well. Are you free, by any chance?_ "

"Tonight?" Ilya glanced at the bills that required immediate attention. "I could be…"

" _I find myself ahead of schedule and wanted to know if you would like to meet._ "

"On such short notice? Allow me to check my itinerary. I'm a _very_ important person, you know." Her joke made him laugh, but he was met with silence while she shuffled through the papers on her desk for sound effect. "Ah, I can make time for you."

" _Is that so? What a relief. Meet me at the Town Square in an hour_."

"See you soon."

Ilya ended the call and leaned back in the chair to stare at the ceiling. The old wood creaked beneath her, but she ignored it in favor of a content sigh. Although she was surrounded by people on a daily basis, it was nice to communicate with someone outside of the tavern. Most of the time, she was too busy training employees who couldn't handle the pressure, or throwing out a drunk who called her a bitch too many times. She desired a break from it all: the spilled alcohol, the drunken arguments, and the persistent bill collectors who called nightly.

Deep down, she hoped to find a friend in Ignis. Her supply of those was short.

****___________________________________________** **

Freshly washed and dried hair waved in the breeze as Ilya rode a rusty pink bicycle to the rendezvous point. If her internal clock was right, she was on time to meet with Ignis: a shocking victory made by a landslide. Normally, she rushed into appointments and events at the last minute, but she wanted to make a decent second impression. He deserved it, she thought, given the circumstances of their previous encounter. Therefore, she made an effort to speed through a cold shower, skipped the shaving and makeup routine, and pulled comfortable clothes from the dresser.

After all, the man didn't specify the reason for his invitation. There was no need to make a fuss over her appearance.

Whistling a tune, the city grew quiet near the destination. Nightlife that sprawled the sidewalks started to thin out and head in the opposite direction; for a spot referred to as Town Square, she expected to find more. Then again, it was rare for the woman to leave the district where she operated and resided. Most of her shopping supported local vendors, or went to online companies when she could afford the internet. A natural homebody, she was starved of human contact, but until a delivery service offered both takeaway _and_ companionship, she was content in self-inflicted solitude.

Gently, she squeezed the brakes and stood from the uncomfortable seat, swinging a leg over it. Scanning the area, she opted to walk through the sparse crowd in search of Ignis. Luckily, it wasn't difficult to find him. Only a few people lingered in the area and he towered above them near the fountain, wearing a pensive smolder with a set jaw. His foreboding presence made her chuckle, but she hid the amusement with a cough.

Gripping the handles, she pushed the bicycle at her side as she approached the man. "You alright there? Looks like something's on your mind. I'm not late, am I?"

Her new friend candidate visibly straightened as his broad shoulders pulled back, causing him to rise another inch into the air. Even at her stature of five-foot-seven, she couldn't fight the urge to tilt back for a better look of the man. Part of her was nervous until he smiled warmly, conflicting with his looming stance.

Why didn't she shave her legs?

"You're precisely on time," Ignis reassured. "I was distracted by the lie on that billboard. Tell me, do you see anything wrong with it?"

Lifting a brow, Ilya looked toward the direction he pointed in. It was an advertisement for a popular coffee chain in the urban regions of Insomnia. The photo was complete with satisfied customers sipping on paper cups and munching on sweet treats from the in-store bakery.

"Uh," she blew a raspberry, sending wisps of hair into the air and falling to frame her cheeks. "I have no idea."

"How can one be so happy without Ebony on the menu?"

"Are you serious?" she stifled a laugh when he cut his eyes sharply at her, his expression dark. "An Ebony guy, huh? That explains a lot,” she teased. "Have you tried anything on their menu? It's not that bad… if you can excuse the fact there's a thousand calories in every sip."

"I cannot say that I have," he admitted, adjusting his eyeglasses. "I've no desire to ruin my palate with caramel sauce and whipped cream."

"But whipped cream is the best part!" stressed Ilya, her volume drawing the attention of nearby people. Suddenly, a light bulb beamed above her head. "What do you have planned for us tonight?”

She regarded the man closely as the gears started to noticeably turn. His jaw clenched tightly, his brows knitted together, and his lips pursed to the side. He made the initiative to call, yet if she had to guess, he didn't have an activity in mind before reaching out. Rather than acknowledge it, she smiled softly. She was relieved to learn he was equally awkward, if not more.

After a period of silence, Ignis sighed and turned to face her directly. “You were right.”

“I know,” she smirked. It was pride that spoke first, but confusion swept in. “Mind telling me what I was right about?”

An unamused scoff fell from his lips and he raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “The last time we met, you implied I don't get out very much. It seems my friends agree.”

“You told your friends about me? Aw, how sweet,” she teased, able to feel a strange warmth in her chest.

Another stifled laugh caused him to roll his eyes as he continued. “I called to borrow an hour of your time, but I must admit I haven't thought of something we can do. My apolo—”

“Ah! What did I say on the phone?” she asked loudly, shaking her head in protest. “Don't apologize. Besides… I have an idea.”

“Should I be concerned?”

Laughing, Ilya shrugged and began to lead him from the fountain. “Don't worry. I won't ask for your help when I break into Lucis Bank tonight.”

**___________________________________**

“Is this your idea of a joke?”

When the two arrived to her chosen destination, Ilya parked her bicycle in an empty rack and unraveled a chain to lock it in place. She groaned in quiet frustration, cursing the rusted metal that broke long ago. At this point, it was a mere deterrent against thieves. It was her sole mode of transportation and she had to protect it, even if a single tug on the small lock unveiled her frugal deceit.

“Nope!” she responded, turning around to catch the despair etched across Ignis's face. Grinning, she faced him as she stepped backward to the door. “I'm going to introduce you to the wonderful world that is—”

“May I recommend—” interrupted the apprehensive man, but she lifted a hand to stop him mid-sentence.

“It's on me,” she persisted, displaying an enchanting smile. It was the one used to bribe customers, but Ignis was different than them. Not only did he seem intelligent, he was stone cold sober. “It'll be fine!”

After placing a reassuring pat on his shoulder, Ilya opened the door and disappeared into the store, leaving him out on the sidewalk. By the time she reached the counter, she heard nothing but the chatter of late night patrons: friends huddled in corners; teenagers giggling over the cute barista; students studying textbooks. What she didn’t hear was the bell jingle above the entrance indicating a new customer.

Suddenly, she regretted dragging Ignis to the cafe. Was it the last straw? If that was the case, he wouldn't have called; their previous encounter was enough to send anyone running. He must have been as desperate as she was to make a new friend.

Ilya resisted the need to glance over her shoulder when someone finally entered, focusing her eyes on the menu on the wall behind the counter. Several long, excruciating seconds went by, but she sensed Ignis's presence at her side before he sighed loudly.

“You leave me no choice,” he conceded, folding his arms across his chest. “If I do this, you must do something for me.”

“Go on…”

With his attention on the menu, he hummed in thought. “Tell me what brought you to Insomnia,” he continued. “I take it you're not from here.”

Raising a brow, the smile left Ilya's mouth. Not many people cared about her past, nor did they ask any questions. So long as she had food and alcohol to serve, no one bothered to inquire about the life she led before migrating to the Crown City. She preferred it that way. Here, she blended in with the rest and no longer worried about the conflict outside the walls. Sadly, her aversion to divulging personal information meant she had no clue how to respond.

“What makes you say that?” she asked, clasping both hands behind her back.

“Sorry,” Ignis muttered. “It's the way you walk. Not to mention, you own a tavern in a district where many refugees have settled. I assumed, perhaps, you migrated as well.” 

“Oh, you noticed the way that I walk? Enjoy the view?” The rhetorical question made Ignis stammer, earning a soft chuckle from the woman. “Tell you what: let's order and find a place to sit. If you take one sip and don't like it, I'll answer your questions. If you do… boy oh boy, are you in for a ride.”

The two exchanged a nod and stepped to the cash register. It was there when a subtle argument ensued between them as she commandeered the entire order. His request for a black coffee was voided and by time they sat down, a monstrous cup of whipped cream sat in front of him. Somewhere underneath the thick layer was a side of coffee, just the way Ilya insisted. 

A heavy sigh fell from Ignis's mouth and he stared at the coffee. She observed him closely as his long fingers wrapped around the cup and brought it to his mouth, struggling to take a sip around the cream. It took everything in her not to laugh once he lowered the cup, only to reveal the cream across his upper lip and the tip of his nose.

“You might want this,” she held a napkin out to him, including a wrapped straw. “This too.”

“Do you enjoy laughing at the expense of others?” He glared daggers and took the napkin to clean his face.

“Just when they make it easy,” answered the impish woman. “What do you think?”

“I asked a question,” Ignis smirked, finding comfort in the chair. 

Disappointed, Ilya's shoulders dropped. If he was anyone else—specifically an intoxicated customer—she would tell an exaggerated lie to entertain him and eavesdroppers. However, his emerald eyes pierced through hers with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable, though she tried not to show it.

“Would you believe me if I said I don't remember?” She lifted her bionic arm to flex the fingers and twist the wrist, showing zero resistance. “At least not how I got here. I used to be a hunter—a good one, too. Some guys and I were on a bounty in Duscae looking for this mean, ugly bastard. Last thing I recall is the pain—white, hot blistering pain… then I woke up here. Nurse told me I was out for a month and that I was short one limb. Guess the behemoth took a souvenir with it! So, long story short: that's what brought me here.”

A furrow showed in Ignis's brows and his eyes lowered to her arm. She was prepared to tell him not to apologize _again_ , but his words caught her off guard. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the arm.

“Ignis!” she gasped dramatically. “And I thought you were a gentleman. You should buy a woman dinner first.” She played it off with a laugh and shake of her head before she extended the arm across the table.

A knot formed in her throat as Ignis carefully clutched the forearm in his hands. He was gentle not to move quickly or pull on it the way others did. Rather, he examined it with his eyes and fingertips, tracing along the white panels that hid internal wires and components not even she understood. It made her heart race, almost like he was touching actual flesh and bone.

“It feels light. I'm not entirely familiar with the procedure, but since you use it with ease, I take it the remaining nerves were rewired to give you control over the replacement. It's remarkable since they had little to work with,” his voice full of curiosity, he went on, “is the hand identical to your right? The craftsmanship is incredible.”

She _really_ should have worn makeup.

Clearing her throat, Ilya quietly drew in a breath to slowly exhale and soothe the warmth in her face. To make her blush was impossible, but it wasn't every day someone studied her so intently.

“Took a while to get used to, but it serves me well. Still waiting on my superhuman strength and reflexes to kick in, though,” she chuckled in attempt to hide her embarrassment. When she withdrew both hands to hide in her lap, Ignis reached for his cup to take another drink with the help of his straw. “Oh! That's a second sip! You are… you're sneaky.”

“What can I say? I like answers,” Ignis smiled. “Ask your questions. I sense you have several.”

The conversation went by with ease, flowing between two naturally inquisitive people who engaged one another with questions and (almost) dignified answers. Ilya shared bits of her past: the lifestyle she led as a hunter, current hobbies and studies, and her inability to cook. In return, Ignis gave her a recipe for potato skins and explained his duties at the Citadel: both with the Crownsguard and vague details about the rest.

“It's getting late,” he announced, glancing at the watch around his wrist. “And it seems our time is up.”

Not a second later, an employee approached the table to inform them it was time to close the cafe. Impatience came from the younger woman as she nearly shoved the two out of the door to lock behind them. Ilya whipped around with an agape mouth, her tongue ready to fire back only to watch the worker flip the door sign to read _closed_.

“Tch! Rude,” she scoffed, taking a step out from under the awning and toward the bike rack. “Not that I can blame her.”

“Neither can I,” he agreed. “We overstayed our welcome, but I enjoyed it.”

Ilya smiled, pulling on the lock and chain to unravel from the bicycle frame. “The coffee or the company?” she asked, tucking the items into the pocket of her jacket.

“The former was an... experience, but it was mostly the latter,” he returned a knowing smile.

A low clap of thunder rumbled above them, followed by a crack of lightning. Hair rose from the top of her head, but the barrier took the brunt of the abuse. Humming, she tilted her head to watch the storm clouds open and unleash heavy rain—every drop repelled by the shield that covered the city.

“It's so weird.”

“What is?” asked the man, turning his attention upright.

“Not being able to feel the rain when I look at the sky. I miss it,” Ilya's eyes sought his once more and a brief lull fell between them before she continued, “out there I would take shelter under rocks or in shacks during storms… clear out caves, hide behind waterfalls, or even risk underground tunnels if it spared me from a torrential downpour. I was so desperate to stay dry, but now I want to splash in puddles more than anything.”

As she exhaled, Ilya could feel weight lift from her shoulders. It was one of the many things she struggled to adjust to, despite having resided in Insomnia for two years. A fight or flight instinct, it was her nature as a hunter to do whatever it took to survive. Now she was cowering in a cage, waiting for someone to tell her it was safe to leave.

Lost in the caverns of her mind, she was pulled out by none other than Ignis who cleared his throat.

“Ah, sorry,” she smiled. “Got a little distracted.”

“Do you have more time to spare? I've an idea… and before you say no, I believe you owe me after that horrendous beverage you called coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm going to try my best to update every (other) Thursday, so we'll see how that works out for us. Also, I felt ~inspired~ and decided to try to recreate the woman I have in mind for Ilya via Comrades. [Here ya go!](https://i.imgur.com/9o8AW45.png)


End file.
